


Five Senses

by leafingbookstea



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fic but not a fic, Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafingbookstea/pseuds/leafingbookstea
Summary: A "sense"-ual exploration of Phryne and Jack





	Five Senses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221A_brina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221A_brina/gifts).



> This isn’t so much a story as an experiment. I am fascinated by what captures our attention when we re-watch the episodes of this show. I noticed the focus narrowed down to individual senses. I started from there. 
> 
> I also want to thank Inzannatea for the beta assist, since this is a gift for my usual beta, the help was greatly appreciated!
> 
> And HAPPY BIRTHDAY 221A_brina!!! Love you, Sweets!

** Five Senses **

 

One – Hearing

 

He could hear the staccato tapping on the tile floor of City South. It was set apart from other footfalls by a rhythm that was hers alone.

She heard them even when he thought she didn’t. Every light sigh when exhaustion was threatening to overtake him. Every tiny groan of exasperation when he found out about something she had done, or someone she had been with. All the times he wished he could have remained blissfully ignorant.

The higher pitch of her voice that gave away whatever she was trying to hide from him.

The low rumble when he spoke, simultaneously soothing her and setting her nerves aflame. Those vibrations of sound gave away the depth of his passions.

The click of her tongue when she said his name; everyone may call him “Jack” but he only wanted to hear it in her voice.

 

Two – Sight

 

He appreciated the sight of her bare back when they first met. For a brief moment he hoped he would see it again, but not at his crime scene.

The flash of red in his coat lining that matched her lipstick. Red the color of passion that lurked underneath the neutral covering he wore like armor.

The first tear he ever saw her shed when she talked about her sister. The multiple tears that flowed over the open grave when she broke down and allowed herself to grieve.

Though he denied it, he did blush when he saw the artist’s interpretation of her naked form. He wasn’t blushing at the idea of the painting, but the image that came to his mind of how her bare flesh might look in reality.

She pulled the fan feathers down and caught his eye. She knew where he was, she saw him from the wings of the small stage. The smile he tried to hide was just for her.

 

 Three – Smell

 

They stood next to each other as he opened the coroner’s report. She breathed in his scent: pomade and warm wool and something ineffable that was unique to Jack.

He stood on a pier waiting for the tides, the suspects, and her. The smell of salt and fish was replaced by French perfume. It wrapped around him like an embrace.“What took you so long?”

He could smell her perfume on his footy scarf for days after he had put it around her neck. After the Gertie Haines’ motorcar crash, he put the scarf away in a drawer. He didn’t want reminders. He forgot about it and didn’t open the drawer again until he needed a sweater for a trip to the Australian Alps. Her scent had migrated to it too. 

Phryne had a strong sense of smell and each of her lovers had a scent unique to them. Most of the time she appreciated the differences, but Guido’s scent was wrong; it wasn’t the one she wanted. She didn’t want to go further than kisses with Guido. She realized the scent she desired was Jack’s.

Concetta wore a rose perfume; Jack filled his nostrils with the scent as she kissed him. This was the perfume of a good woman, who would be a loving wife. It smelled of a well cared for home and garden. But it wasn’t the exotic scent that entered his dreams, filled with erotic promise. The woman who held his heart wore that.

 

Four – Taste

 

He planned on exaggerating his reaction to the forkful of gratin she held out to him. Then he tasted it and it immediately reminded him of his mother’s cooking. He yanked the plate out of her hands and took another bite.

He had never had Chinese food before, the flavor was exotic and the texture unlike anything he had ever sampled before. It would forever after remind him of his dining companion for that meal. Miss Fisher was also exotic and unlike anyone he had ever encountered before.

The first time they kissed, he was sure he tasted of butter and garlic. She tasted like anxiety and fear, not of him, but the situation they faced. The kiss was only a distraction; he ignored the whisper of intention in his mind. As they parted, he knew he would kiss her again, and on that day nothing would distract him.

The Inspector’s Secret Stash! The biggest mystery to her was not where he kept them, she found that out long ago, but their origin. Who baked Jack’s ANZAC biscuits? His mother? A sister? Him?

Mr. Butler’s cocktails taste better than this. It was Jack’s last thought before his head hit the floor.

 

Five – Touch

 

The handshake at first meeting was perfunctory and professional. His hand was large, she noted, her hand almost disappearing into his curved fingers.

She didn’t think about how, but she knew his hand would be there, warm and comforting, the only solid thing in her life as she cried for Janey.

The touch of her fingers on his palm was almost too soft, as if a whisper was holding his hand. How could such a light sensation cause so much electricity?

He touched the skin where her neck met her shoulder, below the hot and angry wound. The warmth of her skin leapt to his and spread from his fingers to his heart.

She felt everything in that kiss. So did he. And all he did was put his lips on hers.


End file.
